


Heaven Doesn't Want Him And Hell's Afraid He'll Take Over

by Spruce_Moose (Duckyboos)



Series: Guns, Puns And Dean's Impala [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anal Sex, BAMF Castiel, BAMF Dean, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel, Bounty Hunter Dean, Criminal Castiel, Handcuffs, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex, Snarky Castiel, Swearing, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-27 20:30:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1721609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Duckyboos/pseuds/Spruce_Moose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Smoother? I’m sorry you…fucking…asshole,” each word is punctuated by a kick to the back of Dean’s seat, “how can I make this easier for you? Would you prefer it if I just quietly walked into the bail bonds office for you?”</p><p>Dean flashes a wide smile. “Man, if you did, then that would be great,” another kick, “but since you’re a fucking nutjob, I’m not holding out much hope.”</p><p>*</p><p>Dean Winchester is a professional. Sure, some people may have varying definitions of professionalism, but either way, Dean definitely is one.</p><p>He’s certainly not the kind of bounty hunter who would fuck a defendant just because he has pretty blue eyes and pouty lips.</p><p>Nope. Not at all.</p><p>Except he really wants to and when Castiel Novak offers, who is Dean to say no? </p><p>What could possibly go wrong?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heaven Doesn't Want Him And Hell's Afraid He'll Take Over

**Author's Note:**

> This had to be written and I'm so so sorry. I'm in the middle of an angst fest with my big bang and I'd Do The Stars With You Anytime so I wrote this earlier today as a way of cheering myself up, so don't go expecting anything other than ridiculous nonsense, 'cause that's apparently what I seem to do best.

Most – nearly all, in fact – days, Dean loves his job. He’s a professional badass for fuck’s sake, who doesn’t want that? But then there are days, like today, when Dean wishes he was something boring and safe like a software consultant or tax accountant.

“I swear to fuckin’ God man, you break anything back there and I will rip it out of your ass!”

The response comes in the form of a hissed ‘fuck you’ and the sound of tearing fabric – or more specifically, the leather of Dean’s cars seats.

So maybe it’s his own fault for the lack of professionalism, but he was on his goddamn night off when he spotted the elusive Castiel Novak sitting at the bar of some grungy shithole, slinging back shots like there wasn’t a $100,000 bounty on his head. What was he supposed to do? Ask the guy to sit and wait patiently whilst he went back home and got his reinforced van?

Of course not, so here he is. With a crazy asshole in the back seat of his beloved Impala, shredding the fuck out of the upholstery and generally acting like he’s the only one who’s put out by all this.

 _Dean’s_ the one who’s going to have to spend his money on getting it repaired, so Castiel Novak can just go straight on to Hell, do not pass go and definitely do not collect $200 ‘cause Dean will be needing that to replace the back seat window that Novak has just put his fucking foot through.

Thank Christ Dean had his cuffs on him or this could have been a metric fuck-tonne worse.

“Pipe the fuck down Novak! This will go a shit load smoother for the both of us if you just co-operate!”

The movement suddenly ceases and then there are wild, bordering feral, blue eyes meeting Dean’s green ones in the rear-view mirror. “Smoother? I’m sorry you…fucking…asshole,” each word is punctuated by a kick to the back of Dean’s seat, “how can I make this easier for you? Would you prefer it if I just quietly walked into the bail bonds office for you?”

Dean flashes a wide smile. “Man, if you did, then that would be great,” another kick, “but since you’re a fucking nutjob, I’m not holding out much hope.”

Thankfully the only response is a swear word in what sounds like Russian and then they ride in silence for a little while, Novak panting heavily, clearly trying to get his breathing and temper under control.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Back to my place for the night.” Yeah, it’s a real bad idea, he knows, but again, no choice. The bail bonds office isn’t open until the morning and Dean is not taking this guy down to the holding cells for the night. No way the cops aren’t gonna give him more grief than necessary.

Which he usually wouldn’t care about. However, it’s different this time.

Though it has nothing to do with the fact that Novak – lunatic that he may be – is exceptionally attractive and is also the dude that Dean had almost hit on seconds previously to realizing where he’d seen that angular jaw and sex hair before.

Which once again, does not showcase Dean’s professionalism in a flattering light.

Thing is, he’s a good bounty hunter; excellent actually, but because of his job, he doesn’t have a lot of time to meet people or maintain a relationship. One night stands are easier and less messy and he doesn’t really have a type as long as they’re willing. And human.

Animals don’t hold the same fascination for him as they did for one of the guys he brought in; Willie Capton. He owned a ranch in Texas and boy was he a sick fuck. Cows, horses, sheep, pigs… not even the chickens were excused from his molestation.

He kind of hopes that Cas isn’t one of those types. That would be a shame.

“What’d you skip bail for anyway? What are you due in court for?”

Another strike against his professional name. He should know, but Castiel has been on the run for a long time and Dean has the memory of a couch cushion when it comes to the actual crimes; all the memory space in his brain used up on what they actually look like. If they turn out to be violent, he can handle it.

“Shouldn’t you know that?”

“Maybe, but I wanna hear it from you.”

There’s a long-suffering sigh from the back seat, then Cas says, “I punched a senator in the face.”

And that’s just it. The tension breaks and Dean howls with laughter, swerving about on the deserted road like his old man used to after a bottle of Jack.

“You punched a senator in the face?” Dean repeats when he's regained his composure, still chuckling lowly, “why the fuck did you do that?”

“Because he was a dick.” Castiel replies grumpily, pouting like a petulant toddler just told that it’s time to finish coloring and pack up his crayons.

It’s a little adorable. And certainly preferable to another part of his precious car getting wrenched off or smashed.

“Well yeah, being a dick is kind of in their job description.”

Cas rolls his eyes and shoots Dean a glare that says everything without the words ever working their way past his lips. Those beautiful soft-looking lips that Dean had been so tempted to kiss back in the bar.

“He’s my brother.”

Ouch. Family crisis. Dean knows how that goes, but luckily the only family he really has left now is his younger brother Sammy, a lawyer. Which is pretty helpful when Dean gets accused of excessive force when bringing in bail-jumpers. It’s kind of hilarious watching Sam reminding them that they’re the ones who broke the law and therefore pretty much deserve whatever Dean’s had to do to bring them back into the justice system.

Plus, Dean’s never shot anyone he didn’t have to. No matter how tempting. For instance, right now.

“Which senator?”

Castiel huffs, clearly annoyed, “don’t you read the news?”

“Do I look like I do?”

“Good point,” Cas concedes, “you don’t look like you read at all.”

Dean isn’t going to dignify that with a response. He reads. The help pages in Busty Asian Beauties count, right? “It’s quiet time now, Novak,” he mutters, feigning disinterest, and elects to fiddle about with the radio rather than risk looking in the mirror where he knows that he’ll be able to see Castiel glaring right at him.

There’s almost nothing professional about the entire evening, but Dean has his man and everything will be okay in the morning when he can kick Novak to the curb and collect his money.

 

***

 

“I thought bounty hunters lived in palaces made from the tears of the poor bastards that they hunt down like dogs?”

So Dean’s place isn’t exactly a Hilton. He’s not at home very often and he never brings conquests back when he is. Castiel is the first person who isn’t Sam to step foot over the threshold of his small house in a very long time.

And he’s already bitching about it.

Dean shoves Castiel forward, maybe a little harsher than strictly necessary, but this dude has hurt his baby and is now insulting his house? He deserves a lot worse and it’s only his pretty face that’s stopping Dean from acting on the desire to see if the purple bruising will look as good on Castiel as he imagines.

“Bit melodramatic there,” Dean smiles, but there’s no warmth or happiness behind it, “however, if you’re insisting that I’m treating you like a dog, then I suppose I may as well actually do it. You can sleep on the floor and I’ll get you a bowl of water. Oh, and if you need to go pee-pee you can go outside, but I’ll have to leash you.”

“Kinky.” Cas murmurs, as Dean flicks on the lights, tossing his keys onto the sideboard. “You gonna hold my dick when I piss or are you gonna undo these cuffs?”

“Neither.” Dean shrugs out of his leather jacket and lays it on the back of one of the chairs, before he thumps down onto it, bending over to unlace his boots.

“Sit,” he grunts, gesturing at the couch to his right, then grins at his own little joke, because he’s just that kind of person. Boots off, he draws them together and drops them next to one of the legs of the coffee table.

Novak sends him a withering glance. “Take the goddamn cuffs off me. I’m not gonna run.” He inclines his head towards the glass tabletop where Dean has just laid out his Colt.45. “I’m not that fucking stupid.”

Dean licks his lips, “I dunno Cas, you were pretty angry back in my car. You did quite a bit of damage. Not sure I’m amenable to helping you at all right now.”

Castiel tilts his head, looking like innocence lost for a split second before the spark reignites and a positively _evil_ smirk crosses his handsome features, “you said that if I broke anything you’d take it out of my ass, right?”

Dean tries not to let the surprise show on his face, but apparently fails judging by the way Cas’s grin widens and now he looks positively predatory, and it’s doing all sorts of things to Dean that he’d rather not think about, but evidently he has no choice in the matter, because the next words out of Cas’s mouth are everything Dean wants and dreads all rolled into one.

“Take the cuffs off and I’ll let you fuck me. It’s a win-win.”

Jesus Christ.

Dean scrubs a hand over his face, fingers scraping through the rough stubble covering his chin. He chooses his next words carefully, simultaneously wondering if Sam would be willing to represent him if he gets done for sexual harassment of a defendant, “who says I’m interested?”

Cas cocks a brow, his entire demeanor shifting into something softer and less defensive. He begins moving towards Dean, almost swaggering, but it’s smoother and more fluid, and about the most seductive thing that Dean’s been subject to in his entire life. He stops in front of Dean, eyes molten and damn near everything about his posture projects pure sex; from the lithe, lightly muscled body, hip cocked, all the way up to his mussed-up hair.

It just isn’t fucking fair.

Dean swallows hard when Cas leans down, lips brushing slowly and deliberately against his ear, “you do, Dean,” Castiel purrs, the syllable of Dean’s name drawn out and dirty on his tongue. “And if you uncuff me, I’ll help you out with that.” He looks pointedly at Dean’s crotch where his dick – his traitorous goddamn dick – is already harder than it was that time he tried Viagra for shits and giggles and really there’s no way of hiding the obvious any longer.

“I could just fuck you with the cuffs on,” he suggests with a leer, as images of fucking Cas doggie style, his fingers wrapped around the chain of the cuffs, using his bound arms as leverage to yank Cas back onto his dick, impaling him over and over again, tossing him around like a rag doll, reel through his mind.

Cas pulls back sharply, “except that isn’t the deal.”

Dean struggles to regain cognitive function through the cloud of lust currently fogging up his brain. “What’s to stop you from just running off?”

“Absolutely nothing,” he says and Dean’s stomach sinks a little. “But I won’t run off. Scouts honor.” He moves his arms, the cuffs clinking softly behind his back. “I would give the little salute, but y’know.”

Dean sighs; almost every instinct is telling him to just fuck the guy into the floor, cuffs or no. He clearly wants it as bad as Dean, if the bulge in his jeans is anything to go by, but Dean just isn’t the kind of guy to disrespect someone’s spoken wishes. Not when it comes to stuff like this anyways.

Alternatively, he could ignore everything Cas has just said, and try to spend the night not balls deep in that tight ass, but that doesn’t really seem like an option at this stage.

Which logically, only leaves him with one possibility.

He reaches into the front left pocket of his jeans, pulling out the small cuff key, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. “Turn around.”

Cas does as he’s told for the first time since Dean slapped the cuffs on him back at the bar and he unlocks them, unhooking them from Cas’s wrists and dropping them on the table next to his gun.

Which he should probably unload if Cas is going to be walking around without any restraints.

Dean stands, crowding into Cas’s space and reaches for his gun, ejecting the magazine into his other palm, swiftly and efficiently, sliding it into the ass pocket of his jeans. He pulls the slide back and the final bullet pings out of the chamber.

“Hot,” Cas intones, fingertips brushing over the gun, wrapping around the barrel and pulling it out of Dean’s grasp. “’Course that’s not the only thing about you that is…”He drops it back onto the table and pulls Dean into a searingly hot kiss that crackles along Dean’s nerve endings and he is so _done_ with this bullshit.

There’s a low thud that reverberates through the thin wall causing pictures to rattle when Cas’s head comes into contact with the partition, and it’s the one of Sammy at his graduation that clatters to the floor, the glass front smashing.

“What is it with you breaking my shit?” Dean growls against Cas’s mouth, hand fisted in his hair, the other desperately working the buttons of Novak’s jeans as Cas takes advantage, hands everywhere on Dean’s body, tugging at his clothes, digging into his skin.

“What is it with you roughing me up?” Castiel counters, “it turn you on or something?” he shoves hard, catching Dean by surprise, and then turns them so that it’s Dean’s head colliding with the wall, sending another picture crashing to the floor as Cas’s body slams into his. Dean’s throat strangles his reply, struggling to form any semblance of coherency against the massive surge of lust from the words spilling from Cas’s throat, pitched low and guttural like they were dragged through gravel.

“Oh, you like it when you get roughed up too, huh?” Cas’s smirk is sly and he grinds up against Dean more forcefully, erections pressed together and even through the rough denim, Dean can feel that Cas is just as hard as he is and it’s so fuckin’ good that all Dean wants to do is give in, just roll with it.

Blue eyes burn into his, branding his soul and scalding his senses as hands roam his body, finishing the strip that they started, clever fingertips attacking his belt buckle and jeans. There’s just no fuckin’ way that they should be doing this, but at the same time, the likelihood of Dean stopping it in favor of what’s morally right, is up there with winning the fucking lotto – it just ain’t gonna happen.

He treads the fine line of decency at the best of times, but he’s perfectly happy to cross over to the dark side in favor of what promises to be the hottest fuck of his life.

His heart is thundering in his ears, blood rushing south so fast that it sends his mind spinning and he’s all but useless as Cas rips his plaid shirt open, sending buttons pinging everywhere, and then there’s a hot mouth biting into his sensitive skin as it trails down towards his uncovered dick.

“Cas, _fuck_.”

Those eyes look up at him, mouth scant inches from Dean’s erection, fingers splayed out over his hipbones, holding him steady and then Cas closes the gap, enveloping Dean’s cock in sleek, wet warmth, Dean’s head tilts back, cracking off the wall and the only thing that his mind offers are the words ‘fuck’, ‘so’ and ‘good’, and he’s pretty sure that’s all he’s saying on a loop, punctuated by “your fucking mouth, Jesus,” occasionally.

But eloquence is kind of a moot point when he’s got those plush lips wrapped round his cock and firm-but-soft hands pinning his hips to the wall with a hidden strength that has Dean’s legs quivering like Bambi on ice, and there’s just no fucking way that he’s not going to come down Novak’s throat with the force of someone who hasn't had sex in forever. His hands tangle in Cas’s hair and he tugs; pushing or pulling he’s not entirely sure until the edge of the moment when it all becomes too much and he just can’t –

“Stop,” he groans, his body not wanting what his lips seem to be saying, but the night is not going to end with him coming from a goddamn blow job, awesome though it may be.

Cas pulls off with an obscene pop, line of spit still connecting his lips to the head of Dean’s dick, pupil swallowing the blue of his iris’ and down on his knees in front of Dean, half dressed and panting, he looks like sin in-fucking-carnate. Any hope of Dean not fucking the dude’s brains out has packed its bags and departed for Australia, leaving Dean to focus on all the ways he’s going to fuck Cas before his damn heart gives out or he just can’t get it up any longer.

Dean hauls him to his feet, lips and teeth colliding in a hungry, messy kiss that he tries to dominate with his tongue, but Cas seems determined not to let Dean have the upper hand and gives as good as he gets, thrusting his tongue against Dean’s, passing on the taste of Dean’s own precome and it’s then that the final strand of his patience snaps.

He growls the words against Cas’s mouth, spit slick and swollen, as his fingers fumble with the hem of Cas’s shirt; it being the last item standing between Dean and getting to see Cas naked, “gonna fuck you now.”

“Yeah?” Cas rumbles, voice hoarse and utterly fucked out, “bring it on, Ace.”

“You want it in a bed or here?” Dean yanks the dark shirt over Cas’s head, throwing it to one side and immediately attacking the newly exposed skin with his lips and tongue.

“You mean I actually get a choice?”

“Not if you don’t hurry the fuck up and give me an answer,” Dean’s voice is muffled and he bites down on the skin of Cas’s neck, teeth sinking deep and Cas whines low in his throat.

“Bed.”

Dean practically drags Cas up the stairs to his room; fearful of stopping in case they end up fucking wherever they stop and after all said and done, Dean is at least partly a gentleman, so if Cas wants a bed, a bed he shall get.

Once inside his room, he shoves Cas, almost throwing him so that he stumbles a few feet and lands awkwardly on the bed, scrambling to get his balance, to get his hands under himself.

Dean follows, kneeling on the mattress behind Cas, pulling him up onto his knees and elbows, ass high in the air and the sight is so fucking perfect that he has to squeeze the base of his cock to stop himself from coming, the other hand fumbling with the nightstand drawer, reaching for condoms and lube.

He coats two of his fingers in the chilly lube and circles one around Cas’s hole, before pushing inside, parting the muscle slowly, not having the patience for a tease; not when he’s this fucking desperate to bury himself in the tight heat currently surrounding his index finger.

Cas moans quietly, shifting back against the finger in his ass, bucking against the pleasure, and Dean gives it a few moments before he adds a second, relishing Cas’s choked-out groan.

“I’m good…just fuck me already,”

Before Cas has a chance to catch his breath, Dean’s already rolled on a condom, slicked himself up and is sinking gradually into him; slowly enough for it not to be painful, but he knows that Castiel has to be feeling a burn. Good. That’s exactly what he wants; he wants it be uncomfortable for Cas to sit down in court, wants him to be constantly reminded of how Dean’s owned him so completely and thoroughly,  brought to his knees in every sense of the phrase.

“C’mon,” Cas growls between gritted teeth, whole body shaking with need and Dean manages a smug grin before Cas cants his hips, quickly shoving backwards against him, ass to Dean’s hips, Dean buried deep and _holy fucking shit_.

“Fuck Cas… think I just saw the fucking face of God…”

Castiel sends Dean a wink over his shoulder, “bastard looks just like me, right?”

Just how in the raggedy fuck is Novak still coherent? Dean’s clawing at his own sanity like a desperate man scrabbling for his last dollar, and he’s not the one with a cock in his ass lighting him up from the inside out.

He grips Cas’s hips harder, bruises pressed into the skin there as their bodies slam together, loud cry breaking past Cas’s lips _and that’s more fucking like it._

The pace is relentless, but Cas meets him thrust for thrust, angling his hips, body surging as Dean fucks into him harder and faster, fucking the noises right out of him, until they’re both breathless with it and Dean isn’t sure that he’s ever going to function properly again after this.

“God Cas, you feel so fucking good… could fuck you ‘til I die.”

“Dean,” Cas is frantically scrabbling for purchase on the bed, fingertips tearing through the bedding as Dean pounds into him, each thrust getting impossibly harder until Cas is just garbling out mangled approximations of  words and Dean’s so close that he can fucking taste it, the boiling hot rush surging up his spine –

“I’m gonna – _holyfuckingshit_ , Dean!”

The grip around Dean’s cock turns vise-like and Dean has to actually halt; can’t move through the tightness, but it doesn’t matter ‘cause he’s coming too and Cas is still swearing in both English and Russian and he’s so fucking beautiful, muscles in his back bunched up, gorgeous body tightly wound and Dean can barely see straight as he comes inside that glorious ass.

“ _Jesus fucking Christ_.”

He just about manages to pull out, roll off and dispose of the condom before sleep pulls him under and as he slips into unconsciousness, he prays to a God he doesn’t believe in that Cas is still here in the morning.

 

***

 

By the time he wakes up again, there’s sunlight streaming through the curtains that he never bothers to close, but more importantly, one glance to his left tells him that he’s alone in the bed and he inwardly curses.

Of course.

He goes to sit up, but the metal biting into his wrists halts his movements and it’s only then that he pays real attention to his surroundings, and yep, his wrists are cuffed to the headboard.

“Fucking brilliant.”

An instant later, Cas appears in the doorway, eyes raking over Dean’s naked body, “Oh, good you’re awake.”

“Uncuff me Cas.” It’s kind of hard to keep his voice under control when he’s mere centimeters away from completely losing his shit. “Now.”

Castiel seems intent on ignoring him, instead crossing the room, stopping at Dean’s side. “It’s a shame that you didn’t know exactly what you were dealing with when you arrested me.”

Dean sighs heavily, as if he’s bored by the whole conversation, but in reality, he’s trying to buy himself some time to figure out what the fuck to do; Cas is brandishing Dean’s gun and it doesn’t take a genius to work out that he’s reloaded it. Sneaky fucker. “I’m guessing you didn’t punch a senator?”

“Oh no, that totally happened, but it’s not why the bounty is on my head.” Cas leans down and presses a kiss to Dean’s temple. “Maybe you should check your files, then come find me again. It’d be nice to catch up y’know? I mean, you’re definitely the hottest one to come after me so far. The only one I’ve actually let fuck me at least, so I guess you get to have that.”

Dean lets the words sink into his brain before he begins thrashing uselessly, straining against his bindings, body arching off the bed as he curses up a storm, the threats flowing easily and spat in Cas’s direction like venom. It’s all the hatred he can muster and it’s still not enough to even make Castiel blink.

“Sorry.” Cas blows him a kiss from the doorway and then he’s gone.

“So I’m guessing you weren’t a fucking scout!” Dean calls after him in one frantic last-ditch attempt to come up with something; _anything_ in the next twenty seconds.

“I was!” The faint voice replies as Dean catches the familiar sound of the front door opening and _shit shit shit!_ “I got kicked out though before I could take the pledge. So you know, not really bound by that code.” A small pause and then, “See you around Dean.”

And then his front door slams shut and Dean is left alone in the eerie quietness of his house.

“Son of a fucking bitch!”

Yep, Dean’s a total professional alright.

**Author's Note:**

> [ My Tumblr ](http://not-a-natural-born-idjit.tumblr.com/)
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> In the interests of procrastination, I am taking prompts now, so if you have a cool idea, just get in touch with me via there. Or for whatever reason. I'm nice, honest.


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